


Not a Durrandon

by CeridwenofWales



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Developing Relationship, F/M, Forced Marriage, Grief/Mourning, Hate to Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 12:28:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeridwenofWales/pseuds/CeridwenofWales
Summary: This piece was inspired by an ask on Tumblr: What is the most ridiculous fear of Orys.





	Not a Durrandon

 

If there was ever a time in which Orys resented Aegon was when the thunder rumbled, and the waves crashed against the rocks below the castle in which he still felt like an intruder. When the storms raged, Aegon’s decree seemed like a sentence rather than a reward. Storm’s End would be his in perpetuity - as much as the woman sitting across the table from him.

 

Orys believed harsh lands breed strong men. The same could be said of his wife, who was eating and drinking undisturbed by the deafening sound of the howling gale. His fingers tightened around the goblet of wine when thunder howled once more. None of his siblings’ dragons sounded as threatening as the storm ragging.

 

His gaze shifted from the barely touched food on his plate to his wife. Orys wondered if Argella was summoning the rain. The same roaring gale that blinded him to Argilac’s army advance. The same rain turned the soil into the mud that cradled her father’s body.

 

“Are you well, my lord?” Argella lifted her head, interrupting his reverie. Her eyes lingered on the whiteness of his knuckles as Orys gripped the goblet.

 

“Never better, my lady.” Orys smiled, setting down his wine goblet on the table as calmly as he could, feigning that he had been raised listening to thunder as lullaby.

 

“You have barely touched the food. You can demand something different. This is your castle after all,” Argella raised her eyebrows and took a sip of wine, relaxing back in her chair.

 

“I’m not hungry,” Orys replied, deciding not to reach for his wine again, “I’m intrigued.”

 

Argella frowned, expecting him to make his point.

 

“Do the Gods ever forget those who wronged them?”

 

“Are you afraid of their wrath, lord Orys? You did nothing against them. You’re not a Durrandon,” Argella pressed her lips into a thin line.

 

Orys could sense the mockery in her words and flushed at how he always failed to remain unaffected by her judgment. He shouldn’t seek her approval, but he found himself yearning for it.

 

“They deemed Durran unworthy of their daughter and would have crushed him alongside all his family if not for the protection of Elenei’s arms.”

 

“Life is not a song, lord Orys.” Orys resisted the urge to rush to Argella as she let out a long breath. He opened his mouth, trying to find words that would console her, but Argella shook her head.

 

_Don’t! No more of your disconcerting chivalry._

 

“Do you think Elenei’s parents wanted to punish Durran because they thought him beneath their daughter?”

 

“Do you disagree?” Orys scoffed.

 

“Do you know grief, lord Orys?”

 

“I know I brought many reasons for you to grieve,” Orys lowered his gaze.

 

“They were grieving over the daughter they lost. Their rage was in truth love that could no longer find destination.”  


 


End file.
